


To Live and to Die

by neeeeeeeeep



Series: To Live and to Die [1]
Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drugs, Explicit Language, F/M, Gen, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, POV reader, Reader-Insert, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-15 01:27:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1286047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neeeeeeeeep/pseuds/neeeeeeeeep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You’re one of the best hit-women in Los Santos and you’ve been hired to kill Trevor Philips. While you’re sure you’ll find it easy to win his trust and catch him off-guard, what you don’t anticipate is falling for him in the process. Will you be able to pull the trigger when the one you love is at the receiving end?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY so i'm really inspired to write just now so i'm just gonna throw this story out before i lose my muse for it because i like the concept of it
> 
> anyhoo, idk let me know what you think. I've written a second chapter already so if this gets some love then i may consider posting it n.n enjoy!

_“There she is: my best girl! How nice to hear from you_ ,” says the voice of your boss, the only person you’ve ever worked for whom you’ve never met in person.

“You too, boss. Got any jobs for me?” you say back into your cell phone. You’ve recently finished your last assignment and are keen to get back out there and earn some money. There’s always a rush that being a hit-woman gives you, and you’re excited to feel that again again.

_“Absolutely. After your last job, I feel like you can take on a harder client.”_

“I totally agree. I don’t think I’ve reached my full potential yet, sir.”

_“Mhm, I feel so too. So, someone’s set a bounty on a dangerous criminal. He’s very well known to be psychotic and ruthless, so be careful. His name is Trevor Philips and you are either likely to find him in Sandy Shores.”_

“Sandy Shores? That shitty little desert area north of LS?”

 _“That’s the one. This guy – he’s got shit loads of money, plenty, but regardless he still lives in a trailer and wears the same shitty clothes every single day,”_ your boss explains, and you automatically assume this guy has no self-respect for himself. Either that, or he just doesn’t give a fuck.

“People are fucking weird. Maybe he’s saving up to buy Hawaii or something?” you laugh, and your boss gives you a chuckle in response. “Alright, I’ll track him down and take him out. How big is the bounty?”

_“$500,000.”_

“Woah, someone really wants this fucker gone.”

_“Yeah, well, he’s been trying to take over a few industries up in Sandy Shores. Obviously, that’s nothing to do with us, but be aware that other people have tried to kill him and failed. He’s a very violent person, so I suggest winning over his trust before you try and take him out. It's the safest option.”_

“I’ll bear that in mind, boss. I’ll update you when I make progress.”

_“Good luck.”_

He hangs up after that and you immediately start getting your shit together. You pack a bag of clothes, and then another one with weapons and any necessities you would need. Of course, if you _are_ going to get close to this guy then you’ll have to hide the firearms, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be prepared. After you’re finished, you dump your bags in the trunk of your car and head out to Sandy Shores. Obviously you’re not going to walk straight up to this Trevor Philips immediately, but you at least want to track him down and monitor him. You want to learn his schedule, his everyday routine, and see what he gets up to before you try and befriend him. This means you’ll be able to figure out how to get him to open up without it seeming suspicious.

You get into your car and start the journey to Sandy Shores. You’re not sure what you’re in store for, but considering what your boss had to say about this guy, you figure it’s going to be exciting. Some of the jobs you’ve had to do in the past were total bores; simple sniper-on-the-roof type of jobs. The jobs you like take time and development, which make them much more satisfying when you finally get your kill.

***

You can immediately feel the heat intensities shifting as soon as you hit desert territory. It’s not necessary hotter than Los Santos, but the heat is different. The sun cremates you in Sandy Shores, whereas Los Santos’ sun is just right. You’re suddenly glad you packed a lot of shorts.

In your mind, you pictured Sandy Shores to have mostly houses and a few trailers on the outskirts, but as you enter the populated area you realise it’s literally _all_ trailers. You’d thought, before you left, that you would easily be able to spot a trailer and immediately know it’s Trevor’s, but that will prove to be a little more difficult than anticipated.

You drive along the sandy roads, looking around the trailers and wondering how the hell you’re supposed to figure out who your target is. You park at the side and pull your cell out, texting your boss for picture of your target because how the hell were you supposed to pick out a scruffy, dirty guy when everyone here is scruffy and dirty? Fortunately, your boss sends back a mug-shot of the guy. Well, he definitely is scruffy as fuck. And this guy’s rich? God, he could do so much with his money, and instead he’s living in this dump.

You start driving again to see if you could possibly spot your target by chance and track him back to his trailer. You drive for about ten minutes and make no progress, but you do see a couple of young boys sling-shotting someone’s chickens and also another guy pissing on the street along the way. Lovely place, Sandy Shores.

You’re about to give up and find a motel to stay in so you’re closer to your target, but just as you turn a corner you spot a familiar body slouching up against a the side of a tavern, in his underwear, beer in hand. _God, he’s the easiest target ever,_ you think to yourself, and although you’re tempted to pick him off now, you want to be a little classier than that; you like your targets knowing who’s killed them, whether they see you through the scope of a sniper rifle or when they look dead into your eyes before you pull the trigger of the pistol at their head. Instead, you take the chance to introduce yourself to him. You get out of your car and walk over to him, cautious in case he’s hostile to strangers. You approach him and crouch in front of him, around a metre away.

“Hello?” you say. He’s passed out and doesn’t stir, so you reach over and shake his shoulder gently. He suddenly jumps up and holds his beer bottle out as a 'weapon', making you stumble back. You’re now on your ass in front of him. He doesn’t notice you until a few seconds later, after he can see he’s not being attacked.

“Oh… shit, sorry,” he grumbles before chucking the beer bottle away. “I had a… a troublesome childhood. Gotta be alert at all times.”

“And being passed out on the side of the road counts as being ‘alert’?” you ask, getting to your feet after he offers a hand out to you. You dust the sand off your shorts and hands.

“Hey, don’t you fucking question me, missy,” he retorts, his voice almost vicious as he points a finger at you. You can't tell if he's being serious with you or not. He's a very hard man to read.

“Sorry.”

“Whatever. Sorry for scaring you, sweetheart, but now I have to go.”

You want to keep the conversation going just so he’s aware of who you are and possibly be more welcoming to you the next time the two of you meet, which will hopefully be soon.

“Do you want a lift home? You look live you’ve had a rough night,” you ask politely, taking a step towards him.

“No.”

“Are you sure? I really don’t mind.”

“Listen, if you’re trying to take advantage of my vulnerable, hung-over state in order to hop on my boy as soon as we get to my place then I ain’t in the fucking mood, princess, alright?” he says, and you squint. What the fuck is he on about?

“No, I don’t want to do that. I just know how tortuous hangovers can be, especially in the sun. Come on, I’ll give you a ride home. It’s really no problem.” You try and keep your tone of voice polite and friendly, so he knows you’re being genuine with him.

Trevor eyes you up curiously before he finally agrees to go with you. “Alright, but I only live a few blocks away so it’ll be a quick journey. Pretty much a waste of time.”

“Saves you walking.”

You both get into your car and Trevor gives you directions to his trailer. You both remain silent throughout the journey, but it’s a comfortable silence, which you take as a good sign. You don’t really expect him to speak much anyway. He doesn’t seem to be in the best of moods, but you blame the hangover. From experience, you know just how overpowering some hangovers can be, and you’d be lying if you said they haven’t put you in a bad mood before.

Trevor was right in saying it would be a short journey, because it only takes five minutes to arrive outside his trailer. A geeky looking man is walking around the dusty front yard with a metal detector in his hands and you hear Trevor, after he exits the car, yelling, “What the fuck are you doing, Ron? We have a fucking business to run! Get back to work, you pathetic little turd!”. The man jumps and rushes out of Trevor’s trailer, into the next trailer over on the left. Trevor turns back to you afterwards.

“Thanks for the ride, sweetheart.” And that’s it. He just turns around and walks into his trailer without even a goodbye. _Well,_ you think, _at least he said thank you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you've made it this far, thank you for reading! like I said before, if you want me to continue with this story then leave some love. i appreciate every read I get! 
> 
> much love <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so this is basically a filler, but I tried to make it as interesting as any filler could be. on the flip side, the reader and Trevor finally meet properly! weeeeee
> 
> enjoy!

Los Santos has been your home for around five years now. You moved there after getting recruited into the hit-man business and you’ve loved living there ever since. But because you’re so used to living in air-conditioned buildings and you’ve adapted to Los Santos sun, waking up in a blistering hot and sticky motel room in Sandy Shores feels like you’ve been sleeping in an oven all night. Even sleeping naked did nothing to help cool you down. You can barely breathe when you wake up and you already can’t wait to finish this job already, just to get out of the heat.

You take a cold shower in attempts of cooling down and it does help for a short while until you have to get dressed. You stick to a pair of shorts and a tank top, accompanied by a pair of flat shoes and you tie your hair back before you leave. You’re on watch duty today to try and get the gist of Trevor Philips’ daily routine, so you get in your car and make your way to his trailer, parking down the street. You've also slipped on a pair of tinted aviators so he won’t recognise your face from yesterday if he does happen to spot you.

It takes a while before Trevor finally emerges. Again, he’s wearing only his underwear and he’s holding a beer, but he looks relatively sober now. _He must just be a casual drinker,_ you think. He checks his mailbox before returning to the trailer.

He doesn’t come out again until about an hour later. You watch him march over to Ron’s trailer – now fully clothed in a dirty white tee and stained jeans with tattered boots on his feet – and barge right in. After ten minutes, both Trevor and Ron walk out and head to Trevor’s truck, taking a right down the road and disappearing from sight. You wait a few minutes until you start to follow them, keeping your distance behind several cars so they don’t spot you. They look as if they’re too busy talking to notice anyone else anyway, so you’re sure you’re safe for now. You make a mental note to wire his truck so you can listen in next time you tail him.

You follow him onto a dusty side road, which is pretty risky considering it’s only your car and his truck on the road, but fortunately he pulls onto a main road again and you continue to follow him. He eventually pulls into a trailer park, which is decorated with motorbikes. You guess they belong to bikers, and you’re soon proved right as several leather-clad, burly men approach Trevor’s truck. You’re parked far away enough not to be spotted by the bikers or Trevor while still being able to monitor what happens, but it gives you the disadvantage of not being able to hear what’s being said. 

You watch Trevor interact with one of the bikers. He’s a very animated character, stepping up to peoples’ faces and then completely pulling back dramatically. It’s obvious he has a lot of social confidence in himself, and the way he carries himself is pretty endearing. You’re sure you’re going to enjoy watching him through the duration of this assignment. At least it’s not going to be boring.

All of a sudden you see Trevor walking to his driver’s seat and pulling out an assault rifle, immediately blasting a few holes in the bikers’ heads. The explosion of gunfire makes you jump and you try to keep your head down, just in case someone has poor aim. Trevor takes cover behind one of the trailers and Ron cowers behind a wooden crate nearby. Trevor is completely ruthless and you can see why your boss warned you about this side of him. He doesn’t even flinch after he kills someone, and you can tell he’s completely comfortable with murdering people, which is slightly concerning.

Trevor pushes forward and you lose sight of him behind the trailers for a while after that. The sound of gun-fire soon starts to quieten down until the trailer site is completely silent again. Trevor remerges from behind a trailer and grabs Ron, who is still hiding behind the same crate as before, pulling him back to the truck before driving off the way he had just came. You assume he’s returning to his trailer so you hang back, knowing where to go if that's the case.

***

You were right in guessing he was going home after massacring the biker gang, because as you drive down Trevor's block, you see his truck outside his trailer. You park up and take the chance to wire up Trevor’s truck. You head to your trunk to get open the duffel bag of weapons and gadgets, pulling out a tapping device, fixed with a microphone which will connect to an earpiece on your end. You figure you’ll have to put one in Trevor’s trailer in the future, but you leave that for when you're better acquainted with him. You walk quickly over to the red Bodhi and stick the device under the steering wheel area, so it’s completely out of sight even if Trevor were to look under it. You quickly return to your car and drive off. You don’t want to stalk him for too long because he’ll undoubtedly catch on that the same car is following him, so you drive off.

You decide to head to the bar Trevor had passed out outside of yesterday for a beer to cool off. It doesn’t take you long to find it again, and you park up and walk inside of it quickly, locking your car behind as you do. You approach the bar, which an older woman is standing behind.

“Hi, darlin’,” she says to you, a friendly smile on her lips, “what can I get for you?”

“A bottle of Pißwasser, please, ma’am.”

“Coming right up.”

The barmaid grabs a bottle of beer out of the fridge, removes the cap and hands it to you. You take a swig and are immediately relieved that it’s cold. There’s nothing worse than warm beer, especially on a hot day. 

You sit peacefully sipping your beer for around twenty minutes before ordering another one. You want to stay sober enough to drive, so you sip your second one slowly and play on your phone while you do so. However, as you take a second sip of your beer you feel a body lingering over you. You glance over your shoulder to see a drunken, old (and frankly smelly) hillbilly standing by you, breathing heavily with a horrible smirk on his face. _Great,_ you think, _a creep._

“Can I help you?” you ask, trying to remain polite.

“Yeah, you can,” the man replies, “you can put that purty little mouth on this here dick, darlin’.”

You grimace and look forward. “I’ll pass, thank you.”

“Come on, sweetheart.” The man puts his hand on your shoulder and you immediately shrug it off. You could easily take this guy down but you don't want to bring too much attention to yourself, so you remain calm. 

“No. Please go away.”

“You know you want it, sweetie.”

“I said _no_. Now fuck off, you pervert.”

“I ain’t leavin’ until I get my dick wet.”

“Hey, pal, you heard the fuckin’ lady. She doesn’t want your saggy, dried up cock anywhere near her, so fuck off and go find a hooker to deal with your filthy ass,” you hear a gruff voice hiss behind you, and you immediately recognise it. You look over and see Trevor towering over the man. He’s significantly taller and more broadly built than the hillbilly, and, admittedly, very intimidating. It’s kind-of attractive, in a way.

“Who the fuck are you? Her boyfriend?” slurs the drunken old man, turning towards Trevor and squaring up to him.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Trevor says with a sinister laugh, “I’m your worst fuckin’ nightmare, buddy, now get the fuck out of my face.” With that, Trevor abruptly elbows the guy square in the nose and he’s down and unconscious within seconds. You stare in disbelief that someone could turn so violent so quickly.

“Uh…” You look down at the unconscious man and then up at Trevor, “thanks, I guess. You didn’t have to do that.”

“And you didn’t have to drive me home yesterday, but it sure helped anyway.”

You smile. “You remember me.”

“I always remember people who go out of their way to help me, of all people.”

“I just did what I would have wanted if I were in the same position.”

You’re surprised at how calm and polite Trevor is. It completely contrasts to the violent action he carried out a few seconds before. It’s nice to see he has himself under somewhat control. “Well, we’re even now, I guess. What was your name again?”

“(y/n). I never caught your name yesterday.”

“Trevor Philips, of Trevor Philips Industries, based right here in scolding Sandy Shores,” Trevor says as he holds out a hand towards you. You take it and shake.

“It’s nice to meet you again, Trevor. Maybe this time we’ll actually be able to have a proper conversations.”

Trevor… smiles. Smiles? You didn’t expect to make him _smile_ , but you take that as a good sign. It means he might like you, and it’s one more step towards winning over his trust enough for him to let his guard down.

“Yeah, maybe,” he replies. “Let me buy you a drink.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so there ya go. they're gonna have a drink together! the next chapter will reveal what happens next, so leave some love if you wanna find out how it pans out. :)
> 
> thanks for reading! much love <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EYOOOO update time!
> 
> i'm so sorry this took so long. i've been super-duper busy with life but i've gotten past exam time in one piece and now have shit-loads of time to do whatever the fuck I want. yay!
> 
> anyway, I just wanna say a big thanks to everyone who's been reading, reviewing and kudos-ing this fic! I lovelovelove every form of feedback and i'm really glad people are enjoying this story :) I have another chapter written (shocking, I know) so if you want more leave me some love and I'll post that soon. 
> 
> enjoy!

Last night passed by in a blur and you can’t really remember anything after your fifth beer. Fuck. So much for staying sober.

You wake up to a pulsing sensation in your head and it makes you nauseous as soon as you sit up. The heat hits you like a brick and suddenly you find yourself rushing out of the room you’re in, to the nearest bathroom. You empty your stomach contents into the toilet for what feels like forever and after you’re finished you can’t find the strength to pull yourself off of the floor. You end up hugging the toilet pan for a while, partially passing out again on it. 

You fully awake again when you hear the sound of a door slamming against the wall as it’s forcefully opened. Your eyes shoot open and your heart jumps to your throat when you see your target standing above you, a smirk on his lips as he looks down at you. 

“Good morning, princess!” he shouts with a shit-eating grin on his lips, blatantly on purpose to fuck with you in your delicate state. You wince and close your eyes, leaning your head against the toilet lid. You only realise what you’re doing when you get a whiff of the vomit which had been sitting in the bowl since you let it out. You abruptly stand up to get away from it, stumbling a little towards Trevor. His arms shoot out to catch you just in case you fall. Fortunately, you stabilise yourself before you do.

“The fuck happened last night?” you groan after catching your balance again, glancing up at Trevor. 

“You got wrecked, princess. Absolutely wasted. I wasn’t sure where you were staying so I just let you crash here,” Trevor explains, giving you a shrug. 

You groan again, completely embarrassed you let yourself get into that kind of state, especially in front of someone you’ve been hired to _kill_. You’re lucky you didn’t spill the beans and expose yourself. Or maybe you did, and now Trevor’s just fucking with you. _Shit._

“Look, I’ll just get my shit and leave. I appreciate you helping me out, though. If it were any other scumbag in this town I doubt they would have been so nice to me.” You shoot him a small smile.

“It’s alright. I might not be the nicest guy ever but I ain’t gonna let a pretty girl like you get taken advantage just ‘cause you like to drink.”

Wow. This guy is surprisingly nice despite his psychotic nature, and it’s making a pool of guilt form in your gut when you remember you'll have to kill him eventually. But you shake that feeling off because that’s completely unprofessional and even more inappropriate than getting wasted in front of him. You head back into the bedroom. It’s only then that you realise that you’d just had a full blown conversation with Trevor without any pants on and a tank-top which barely covers you. _Shit, what did you even do last night?_ You gather your clothes and get dressed again, pulling your messy hair into a ponytail before you return to the front of the trailer. Trevor is sitting on the couch watching TV.

“I’ll be going now,” you say, catching his attention from the TV. “Thanks again for looking after me. We should do this again. Only next time I’ll buy _you_ a drink.” You laugh a little. This situation, although it's risky as fuck drinking with a target, is good for your assignment. Getting closer to Trevor will get you to a point where he’ll have his guard down and that’s exactly what you’re aiming for. You just need to be careful with your alcohol consumption next time.

“I’ll hold you to that, sweetheart,” Trevor replies with a wink and you smile before stepping out of the trailer. You realise you have to walk back to the bar to get your car and so you set off in that direction, glad it’s not far from the trailer.

***

As soon as you get into the safety of your motel room, you pull your phone out and hit dial on your boss’ number. He picks up within a few rings.

“Ahh, there she is! How’s the case?” he asks. For the boss of a very successful and very dangerous assassination business, this guy is very cheerful. Guess that’s what being a psychopath does to you.

“I’ve made some progress,” you reply. “I spent the past few days trailing Mr. Philips and trying to grasp his daily schedule. I’ll have to do that a bit more before I finally see a pattern. I also managed to have a drink with him yesterday.” You make sure you leave out the part where you got completely shit-faced and ended up on your Philips’ floor vomiting your guts out that morning. What your boss doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

“Good, good! I’m glad you’re making process. So you’re going to get close to him then?”

“Hopefully. Like you said, it’s probably best to take him out when his guard is down. Less mess to deal with.”

“Right. And speaking of mess, just remember that you don’t leave any sources of DNA around whatever you do.”

Oh… _God_. You assume Trevor will let his guard down around you while he’s shit-faced drunk but if he doesn’t then you’ll probably have to seduce him. Other agents have gone down that route and it’s worked very successfully before, but just the thought of physically sleeping with Trevor and then shooting him straight afterwards makes you feel uncomfortable. Imagining cleaning up the mess, if you did happen to kill him after sex, didn’t make it any better. That would be a _lot_ of DNA to get rid of.

“I know, boss. I’ll make sure that whatever I do will not leave any traces back to us.”

“That’s why you’re my best agent. Update me if you have any more information. Good luck.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He hangs up and you slip your phone back into your pocket, running your hands through your hair. Physically sleeping with Trevor wouldn’t bother you if it had to come down to that, but sleeping with anyone just to get close enough to kill them makes you feel… dirty. You’ve never done it before, and while you know it would be essential to the case that doesn’t mean you would like it. You shake it off and undress, heading into the bathroom to scrub yourself clean of the alcohol stench still looming in your clothes. It helps soothe your mind and by the end of it you feel a little better. 

***

You don’t physically meet Trevor for the next few days. Instead, you tail him around Sandy Shores and occasionally Los Santos to see what he’s doing and you get a relatively good idea of his daily schedule. He normally goes to Ron’s in the morning and you assume it’s to discuss what they’re doing that day. He usually ends the conversation swearing at poor Ronald, and you always feel sorry for the guy. After that, he usually goes to – what you assume is – a meth lab, where he meets a guy named Chef. It’s obvious what business he has with Trevor, and they normally have about ten minute conversation before Trevor leaves again. It would look like a normal friend-to-friend conversation if the two of them weren’t talking about cooking and selling methamphetamine. Afterwards, Trevor usually does a few jobs, little ones which will get him a small wage for the day. It usually involves killing people and stealing their weed to sell to schmucks on the street, but he still comes away with a few bulky wads of money every time. 

You’re sure that Trevor isn’t as much as a psychopath as people claim to be until one day he takes a trip out to a farm in the countryside. You tail him to the same bar you and him drank in previously and watch him speak to a couple of Asian guys who you figure are doing business with Trevor. However, things turn sour and Trevor loses his shit, cracking the back of one of the guy’s skull before racing off towards this stretch of land where a large farm house is situated. You park nearby, out of sight in the bushes, and watch as Trevor takes out a whole house-full of hillbillies. Jesus Christ, the guy is absolutely nuts and doesn’t seem to show any mercy whatsoever. And just as you think it can’t get any worse, he reappears with a gasoline canister and mindlessly sets the whole place on fire. That’s when you take off. You don’t want to be there when the cops and firetrucks start pouring in. You take the opposite road from Trevor’s trailer location just to get out of the vicinity. Alright, so maybe now you’re getting a better idea as to why so many people want this guy dead. He’s a definite danger to society. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooooooooooooo yeah that happened
> 
> I know the chapter's a little short but I promise the next chapter is longer! and has a little bit of smutty-smut c: or a lot... read to find out!
> 
> also regarding the last section when Trevor sets the house on fire, I obviously based that on the sequence of burning the O'Neills' farm down in the game. I'm not sure if I'm going to follow the mission events in the game (e.g. the big heist, etc.) but I may just steal a couple of scenes so, and possibly include Michael and Franklin in future chapters. I'm writing this on a whim so I really have no idea what's to come. that's the exciting part :3
> 
> so yeah, leave me some love if you want more! I love everyone who reads and really appreciate all the feedback you guys leave <3 
> 
> thanks for reading! c:
> 
>  
> 
> [My Tumblr](http://rthunters.tumblr.com)  
> 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who's a piece of trash writer who can't continue their own fic? THIS GIRL
> 
> who's also a piece of trash writer who starts and publishes fics before planning out what's actually going to happen in them? ALSO THIS GIRL
> 
> ughhhhhhhhh i'm so frustrated with myself for updating this fic and Night and Day. like I said, I published these fics hoping that i'd be able to write them without planning them out first and it's just led to massive writer's block and no updates. this chapter, I wrote a few months ago and I hope that after publishing it I'll be able to get back into the swing of things with at least this fic. 
> 
> anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter! some smutty shit does go down so at least it's not a filler!

You visit the bar again a week after your previous drunken shenanigans with Trevor. You've been watching him all week and you figure you've learned enough about him to try and get closer to him. So, you take a seat at the bar, order yourself a bottle of beer, and wait, hoping your target will show up.

Fortunately, an hour after you arrive Trevor does, in fact, turn up. Practically announcing his arrival, too. This guy has big balls considering the amount of people who want to kill him in town. "Have no fear!" he says as he steps into the bar, and you don't even have to look to know who it is. "Trevor Philips is here!"

You refrain from looking at him. You don't want to seem to eager to be around him; figure you should just act normal so you seem more genuine. It would be pointless pretending to be someone you're not when you want him to appeal to you. And so far, he seems to have done that.

It doesn't take him long to notice you sitting at the bar. In fact, he warmly welcomes you by wrapping an arm around you and pulling him close to you. He leans down and speaks softly, almost seductively, "Hey, sweetcheeks. Did you miss me?"

Ignoring the shivers his voice alone sent shooting down your spine, you smirk. "Only if you missed me first."

He growls playfully. "God, you're a feisty one. I love it," he says before sitting down. "So, that drink you mentioned before?"

 _Shit, he still remembers that? Damn, good memory._ "Oh, yeah," you reply before turning to the barmaid who's eyeing you suspiciously, her looking asking why the fuck you're with Trevor Philips. You ignore it. "I'm paying for his drinks tonight. Put whatever he orders on my tab."

Despite the clear _'what the fuck are you doing?'_ look on the barmaids face, she takes Trevor's order and you hand her your credit card. 'Course it isn't strictly _yours_. Your real credit card is hidden away safely, only to be used when you're not on a case. The one you're using now is simply under a faux name provided by your boss, and fortunately, it has money to spend on it.

You buy Trevor his first drink which is a shot of whiskey. He downs it like a champ and orders another one within seconds of finishing the first one. Soon, he's starting to wobble on his feet as he continues to down shot after shot. You try to keep up but damn, that man can drink. You're barely intoxicated when he's close to falling over himself, and you decide to take him home after that. Out of his face, Trevor complies. So, you slink your arm around Trevor's middle to give him some leverage while you try to escort him to his trailer. He's an exceptionally loud drunk but since you're not exactly sober yourself, you find his drunken rambles amusing and admittedly hilarious.

The usual fifteen minute walk takes close to a half hour but your sides feel like they're going to split by the time you get to his trailer. The two of you are laughing at fuck-knows-what and having the best time you've had in a while. When you final arrive at Trevor's trailer, you both stumble into his door. The alcohol has finally kicked in and effected your walking but it makes the situation that more hilarious.

"Y'know, sweetheart," Trevor slurs as he pulls you closer to him, his arm around your shoulders, "I like you. You're just like me, y'know, without the killing or drugs or one-night stands with sleazy guys."

You raise an eyebrow at him and smirk. "Who says I don't have one-night stands with sleazy guys?"

Shit, you're drunk as hell, because the next thing you do is lean in and plant a kiss on his lips. Thinking nothing of the mission, you're doing this because you _want_ to, and that fact alone is dangerous. But the mission doesn't even occur to you at that moment. You're too focused on the way Trevor's slightly chapped lips feel great against your lips and how much you want to take his clothes off. To make matters worse, Trevor is letting out grunts and growls as you run your hands up his chest and through his hair. Christ, for a psychotic older guy, he's fucking hot and it's making you want him all the more. You get a little impatient after that, starting to tug his shirt over his head and throwing it across the trailer when you succeed. Your hands don't hesitate to wander over his chest after that; the tips of your fingers running up his surprisingly skin smoothly, then your fingernails scratching his pecks lightly as your hands descend to his jeans.

You break away from the kiss to look at your hands and quickly unfasten Trevor's jeans, eager to get a move on. From above, you can practically hear the smirk in Trevor's voice as he says, "Hmm, eager, ain't we?"

You look up and grin mischievously. "For you? Absolutely."

And with that, Trevor scoops you up and carries you to the bedroom. He lays you down on the bed you found yourself waking up in a week ago and quickly pulls your shirt over your head. You do him a favour and reach behind to tug your bra loose, shimmying it off your shoulders before chucking it aimlessly across the room. His eyes are hungry when he pauses to lap you up in his view and it turns you on that much more. _God,_ you want him so badly that you quickly push your jeans over your hips, along with your panties, so you're bare naked in front of him. He follows your lead and removes the rest of his own clothing.

"God, I've wanted to do this from the moment I met you, missy," Trevor comments and you shiver as he runs a hand down your shoulder and arm. He leans into your ear and whispers, "Turn over; I want you on all fours."

And you do as you're told without hesitation. You spin round so you're on your hands and knees, ass facing him with your legs slightly parted. Soon, you feel Trevor's rough hands running over both ass-cheeks simultaneously and it makes your back arch slightly. He must have seen this movement since he circles your cheeks with his palms, occasionally grazing your back entrance which makes you shiver even more harshly than before.

God, you feel yourself soaking up and begin to ache for him, and you can't help but look over your shoulder and plea, "Trevor... please don't tease me. I want you now. I _need_ you now."

You catch a glimpse of the pre-cum dribbling down the head of his erect cock while you look at him, which is currently pressed against his abdomen. The sight alone makes you bite your bottom lip and groan, but you try your best to hold it together while you can. Fortunately, Trevor is as hot as you are and quickly grabs a condom from a mess in the corner of his bedroom, ripping the foil packet open with his teeth and rolling it onto his thick cock expertly. Then you finally feel his hard tip press against your entrance, prodding between your lips before carefully sliding inside of you. You're wet and sensitive and it makes you adjust to his size almost instantly and when he feels that he doesn't hesitate to build a quick speed in his thrusts. You let out a loud moan, gripping the bed sheets below you as you lean your head down a little, backing your ass towards him more.

His fingernails dig into your hips as he continuously rocks his hips back and forth, repetitively hitting your sweet spot and making you moan louder, panting intertwined with your noises. Truth be told, you don't really have a sex life when you're on a case - or at all, really - so this just feels incredible. Trevor is a man who knows what he's doing and if he makes you feel like this for the rest of the duration, you're going to explode.

It doesn't stop there. As Trevor gets more and more into it, he keeps hitting your spot at the perfect force and speed and on top of that he lets out grunts whenever he's overcome with pleasure. You really aren't sure if you're going to be able to hold yourself together but fortunately you can feel Trevor's movements start to get a little more needy and it's a clear sign that he's getting close to his climax.

Roughly around a minute later, he's convulsing and jutting his hips into you and you can't help but groan as he does. At that point, you really don't care that you haven't climaxed yourself. The fact that you can make Trevor growl dirty talk into your ear as he comes because your 'pussy is incredible' is enough to satisfy you for the night. But Trevor has other plans.

Once he's finished, he pulls out of you, removes the condom and flips you onto your back, burying his face between your legs without warning. You let out a loud moan as his tongue hungrily attacks your clit, swiftly and precise which makes your moans get impossibly louder. Your fingers run through his hair and your back arches as he slips a finger inside of you, curling up to rub your g-spot with experienced movements and soon your hips are uncontrollably writhing, your whole body dominated by pleasure as your orgasm explodes between your legs.

You practically scream his name as your fingers clench his hair, your climax hitting you so hard that you can see stars for a few seconds during it. He cools you down with gentle movements and only pulls away once your body is finally calm. _Jesus fucking Christ, this man is a sex God,_ you think once you return from your blissed state.

"Good?"

You look over at him, wiping away the remainder of your orgasm from his lips as you do, a clear smug grin on his lips. "I-uh, I guess you could say that." You shrug with faux nonchalance. If you really told him how good that was, you would be here all night. Instead, you decided to stop yourself before you looked a fool.

"Hmm..." Trevor narrows his eyes at you. "I know you're lying, but whatever. I'll let you off with it this time." This time? That means there'll be a next time, and that definitely won't be a problem for you if Trevor provides orgasms like that every time he fucks you.

Trevor's cellphone bursts into life in the living room after that and he excuses himself to answer it. It gives you time to cool down and gather your bearings. You're still a little buzzed from the alcohol but you've certainly sobered up after getting fucked senseless by Trevor. You really don't know how you got here. The past few hours are a drunken blur and now that you've finally come down from your high, you remember why you're with Trevor in the first place. And that's when your stomach drops.

Shit. You still have to kill this guy. You shouldn't have any sort of fondness for him, even if it's physical attraction. Any connection you feel towards this guy will make it increasingly difficult when you eventually have to pull the trigger. As you realise this, you start to panic and grab your clothes. Christ, you have to leave this place right now and get your head straight. Priorities need to be set and you refuse to see Trevor again until those priorities are clear.

You're dressed within seconds and you quickly make your way out of the bedroom. You look at Trevor who immediately looks at you as you exit the room, still stark naked in the living room with the phone pressed to his ear. "What's up?" he asks, brow furrowed as he covers the mic on his phone.

"Nothing... I, uh, I just gotta go do stuff. Forgot I had shit to do. I'll see you around, alright?" you say with a weak smile before rushing out of the trailer. You hear Trevor put his contact on hold as he rushes after you.

"Hey! Can... can I get your number or something? How will I find you again?" he calls after you as you step out of his yard. You turn back to see him standing in his yard - again, still naked as the day he was born. People were now staring.

"I... uh, I'll find you, alright? Just... I'm sorry. I'll find you when I can, Trevor."

You leave after that. Rushing down the street, you can hear Trevor shouting at pedestrians for staring at  his naked body. "Take a picture, shithead! It'll last fucking longer," he hisses, his voice fading out as you get further and further away from him.

When you finally reach your motel room, you immediately hop in the shower. Scrubbing yourself clean, you hope to wipe the last few hours out of your mind like they never happened. You didn't enjoy Trevor's company, you tell yourself. You don't want to see him again. You just want to get this job done and move on. That's what makes you the best, right?

Well, that's what _did_ make you the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shittttttttttttttt has gone down and it is potentially dangerous for the reader! wonderful ;)
> 
> like I said before, I hope i'll find muse for my Trevor x Reader fics again. i really do enjoy writing them!
> 
> recently I've taken on requests for a couple of fics, so if you have any requests for fics you want to see me write, drop me a comment below and I'll try my best to complete them for you guys! i do love the challenge c:
> 
> thank you for reading! leave me some love if you enjoyed and hopefully you'll see a new chapter in the future! <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DID IT, MA. I WROTE A CHAPTER. A NEW CHAPTER. BE PROUD OF ME.
> 
> yes, yes! a fresh, new chapter! and things are getting pretty serious yo. 
> 
> i actually sat down and planned an end-game plot (not a full plot, but just what I want to lead up to) so hopefully it'll help me with chapter ideas and hopefully that means more updates more regularly! yay!!!

You think about Trevor a lot after sleeping with him, and it doesn't help that you have to spend most of your days watching his daily routine. You can't help but see him in a different light and you just know that it's going to get you into trouble if you don't change the way you think about him. You keep reminding yourself that your aim is to take him out eventually, and the more you feel for him the harder it will be when the time comes. 

But that doesn't stop your eyes from wandering when they get the chance. Down his arms - his unusually muscular arms for someone who doesn't work out (although, the more you think about it, the fact that he runs around all day killing people has to have done something for his physique), to his hands which you can't stop thinking about running down your body, holding onto your ass as he fucked you senseless and made you scream. And then you go lower, eyes flickering over his abdomen and then finally lingering over his crotch, and just thinking about it makes you press your legs together. 

Most of the time you're in your car when you're staring at him and there has been times where he's glanced over in your direction and scared you senseless because you were sure he was going to recognise you. But he hasn't found you... yet.

You've spent most of your time away from him in your motel room, other than the few times you've tailed him. You've been too scared of running into him, too nervous to explain why you ran out on him. You're the best hit-woman in Los Santos and Sandy Shores and you still can't face this asshole just because you had sex with him. You often wonder if the other female assassins had the same problem when they slept with their targets, but you assume they're much more professional than you are. Who on earth decided that you're the best? You're just a coward. 

You're in the motel room when your phone buzzing pulls you from your thoughts and you're quick to pick the device up. But when you notice the caller ID, you hesitate to answer it.

"Boss?" you finally say when you press the speaker to your ear.

"Hello! How's my favourite assassin doing this afternoon?" he asks, as cheerful as ever.

"I'm, uh, I'm doing great. How about you?"

"I'm fine. How's your case going? Made any progress?"

You pause. _Is it wise to tell him about Trevor? Or perhaps that will cause him to think I'm going to finish the case sooner than intended,_ you think to yourself. But you have to tell him. "I... I slept with him," you admit, but you have to stall the mission. You're not done with Trevor yet. "But I'm unsure if he trusts me yet."

"Regardless of whether he trusts you or not, you're able to get close to him now. That is what we're looking for. So, I need you to do it again, but this time I need you to take action. I have more cases for you and I want you free to do them, meaning you need to wrap this case up before I pass the jobs onto other agents."

"Right. I'm sorry it's taking so long to finish, boss. Mr. Philips is a tricky man to work with."

"It's alright. Just get it over and done with so we can move on."

Your boss hangs up on you after that and you can't help but feel guilty for having the phone call. This wasn't supposed to happen. You were supposed to kill Trevor quick and easy yet here you are, _stalling._ You think back to your previous cases, how easy it was to kill someone even after following their lives for a weeks. There were no complications and you felt nothing but satisfaction when they stopped breathing. But this case? Fuck, it was messy, and you absolutely blamed it on the sex. You should have just approached the mission from a more simpler angle, preferably from a rooftop with a sniper rifle in your hands and your cross-hairs between Trevor's eyes. But of course, you decided to make things difficult for yourself and now look at the state you're in. 

You stand up from your bed and pack your things into your duffel bag before you head out of the motel. You check out of the room, having no intention of returning because you know you have to get the case over and done with or it'll never happen. You dump your things in the backseat of your car and drive right to Trevor's trailer. Your plan is to trick him into letting you stay the night, get him into bed and then shoot him in his sleep. Quick and easy, no hassle, no problems.

When you park up outside, you pop your glove compartment open to grab the pistol you've always in kept there before packing it in with your clothes. Then you make the walk up to Trevor's door and give it a few raps with your knuckles. _This is it,_ you think, _this is the last time you have to see him, and then you can move on. Nice and easy._

But then you see him again. Trevor answers the door and his face visibly lights up at the sight of you and it makes you feel fucking sick. He's happy to see you, and the fact that his smile makes you smile back means you're happy to see him, too. _Maybe it won't be as easy as planned,_ you think.

"Well, ain't you a sight for sore eyes. Where you been, princess?" Trevor asks as he leans his hands on the top of the door frame. It's hard to keep your eyes from tracing the muscles in his arms.  

"I've... been having some problems. Family problems, y'know? I was kicked out of my folk's place. I was actually hoping if I could stay here? With you? Just for a little while, that is. Until I can get something else sorted," you explain, trying your best to sound as sincere as you can.

"Of course, sweetheart. Come in. Make yourself at home. D'you want a beer?"

"Yeah, that'd be great, actually."

You dump your stuff in Trevor's room before you settle on his couch. Taking the beer he hands you, you gulp it down a little too quickly but luckily Trevor doesn't seem to notice. You're nervous, that's for sure, and you don't want him to realise that you're on edge. You don't want him to have any suspicions, not while you can control it. 

For some reason, you want Trevor to die happily. You want him to be unaware of what's happening before you pull the trigger and you want him to go while his last thought is of him cuddling you in bed. You want his last day to be his best day and it's that which makes you, stupidly, suggest, "We should go out."

"What?" he asks, looking over at you from the kitchen with raised brows.

"Let's do something. Let's go to Los Santos for the day or something. I kind of want to take my mind off of things."

"Uh... okay. What do you want to do?"

"We'll figure it out when we get there, alright?"

Trevor complies and you both make your way out to his truck. You know this is something you shouldn't be doing. You know in every inch of your body that this is wrong but you don't care. Trevor has done nothing but be kind to you since you've met him and you're determined to make him happy before you have to complete your assignment. It's the least you can do for him.

You try to enjoy your day, too. You make the most out of everything you do, whether you're just singing to the radio on the long drive to Los Santos or pushing Trevor's ice cream into his nose when the two of you walk along the beach. It may not have been Trevor's kind of outing, but he looks like he's enjoying his time with you and you're just glad to see him smiling. 

By the time it gets dark, you've been all over the city. You decide to hit a bar before you go back to Sandy Shores and fortunately, it's a karaoke bar.

"You won't get me up there unless I'm high as a kite or absolutely smashed. Ask me in a few hours, princess," Trevor responds after you ask him to join you for a song. 

And so you do. Trevor, about two hours later, is shit-faced drunk and you're officially the designated driver, but you're still eager to get him on stage to sing Sonny and Cher with you. Luckily, drunk Trevor is a lot easier to manipulate into doing what you want and you eventually get your way by pulling him onto the stage. Trevor is wobbly but he still picks up his mic and plays along with you. He wraps an arm around you as you both sing your parts and at one point he gets into it so much that he doesn't even look at the words before he opens his mouth. While he's mumbling a few words, he's still singing at you as if he'd written it himself and you can't help but laugh at his drunken enthusiasm. 

You call it a night after that and try to maneuver Trevor into the passenger side of his Bodhi without either of you getting injured. After that, you start the journey back to Sandy Shores. Trevor falls asleep around ten minutes into the drive and you spend the rest of the duration listening to a radio station playing 'easy listening' music, as they call it, which was enough to make you want to curl up beside Trevor as soon as you get home.

You'd been so distracted with Trevor all day that you only remember what you're supposed to do when you arrive his trailer. You manage to help his sleepy body into bed and under the covers and it's then that you notice your bag in the side of his room. You pale at the sight of it and all you can think about is the gun sitting underneath your clothes, waiting to be pressed to Trevor's forehead and fired. And you get that awful nauseous feeling again. _I can't do it,_ you think to yourself, starting to panic and sweat, the heat of Sandy Shores suddenly suffocating you. 

You rush outside of the trailer to desperately try and get the air back into your lungs, although each breath feels like your lungs are burning. Although it's around 10pm at night, the heat is still overpowering and you find it hard to think about anything else other than the fact that you can't breathe. It's takes ten minutes for you to stop panicking as much. You try to figure what you're going to do, but you don't know what to do. You know you can't let your boss down but you also know that you can't kill Trevor. Not tonight. You try to make excuses why, other than the fact that you don't want to kill him, you can't kill him tonight and you make a somewhat plausible list. One, he's completely shit-faced. You'd feel bad if you were to kill him now; it would be like trying to get into someone's pants if they were drunk - just down-right wrong. Two, you haven't slept with him yet, something you want to do before you kill him for his sake rather than yours, and the same argument applies. And three? Well, you're stuck on that one, but you're sure there is a third point. 

You decide right there that you'll do it another time. Besides, you've had a good day and you don't exactly want to spoil it by spilling blood, right? Right. 

You return to Trevor's bedroom and strip down to your underwear before joining him under the covers. You just want to sleep now. At least then, for a few hours, you won't have to think about anything. Everything will just be an unconscious blur of images in your head and you can enjoy it until you have to face the new day. You just hope the new day doesn't come too quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yooo reader got some problems and she gotta solve 'em quick!
> 
> the writing in this is a little choppy, i feel. but i hope it's just because i haven't physically written this fic for a while so hopefully that'll go away the more i write. 
> 
> if you've made it this far, thank you for reading! the support my fics have gotten so far is insane and I just wanna say that I'm so appreciative of each and every comment/kudos/view i get! literally, I check pretty much every day on how they're doing and every time i'm just like h o l y s h i t that is so amazing.
> 
> i love you guys c: thanks for giving my crappy ramblings the time of day! <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is so intense and i literally got kinda emotional at some points when i was writing it so hopefully you guys like it! the beginning is a little ranty but g o d the end is such a turning point in this story like shit it's a 'HOLY FUCK' moment, if i do say so myself.
> 
> enjoy!

You wake up in a state of panic the next morning. Abruptly sitting up in bed, your breaths are heavy and your chest movements are frantic. You look down at your hands, realising the blood which covered them in your dream is just the sweat from the heat, but that still doesn't relax you. You can still see it, the flashes of red covering your palms and dripping off your fingertips and you can still see him lying in front of you, face unrecognisable from the shotgun blast through his skull. _Trevor._ He's unresponsive and covered in blood and it's making you sick just thinking about it.

You look over to check he's still there beside you and see he's still fast asleep, at peace and unharmed, completely oblivious to the internal dilemma you're having with yourself. _Fuck, this isn't good,_ you think to yourself as you get up out of bed. It's around 6am now; you've only slept for about five hours and your body is still craving rest, but you refuse to return to bed. You don't want those kind of dreams haunting you for any longer and you're prepared to accept the exhaustion until night returns and you have to face them again.

You pull on your shorts from yesterday before grabbing your shirt. It's then that Trevor stirs in bed, grumbling the words, "I hope you're not deserting me again," in a groggy voice and you freeze for a moment.

"No," you reply as you pull on your shirt, "I just have to get out of this trailer. It's too damn hot." You laugh, but it's weak and because he sits up in bed, you're sure Trevor is aware that something is wrong. But he says nothing; instead he just watches you as you walk to the front door. You pause before you exit to add, "I'll be back later, alright?" and proceed to step out of the trailer before you hear and answer from Trevor.

You're in a horrible state of mind and you can't seem to think straight anymore. And what makes it worse is that you can' t talk to anybody about what you're feeling. You have no family to support you (what family _would_ support someone who kills people for a living?), no close friends because your job requires your true identity to be kept a secret and if you even _tried_ to get professional advice they'd probably call the cops on you within the first five minutes of a session. You're alone in this world with no one there beside you and it's slowly tearing you apart.

You rush to your car and drive off quickly, towards Mount Chiliad. You just have to isolate yourself for a few hours, promising yourself that by the time you return you'll have the answer to all your problems.

***

The drive is long and you spend most of the journey with the radio off. Your mind is already clogged with restless thoughts and you can't have anything else distracting you right now, or else you're positive that you'll go insane. You find yourself entering the wilderness, surrounded by trees and wildlife and you think it's perfect. You follow a path until you're surrounded by nothing but nature and turn off the car engine before getting out of the vehicle. You look around, take deep breaths as you walk over to a grassy spot, taking a seat with the intention of sitting there for a while.

It's nice being amongst the animals and the trees, without having to deal with every day problems and people. There's no responsibility there. No reason to worry. But you laugh at that thought alone. As much as you want to pretend your problems have disappeared just because you're nowhere near Sandy Shores, you can still feel them picking at you from inside, demanding attention and ordering you to deal with them. You have to face them, or else they'll slowly start to rot inside of you.

 _Trevor Philips._ God, even the name makes you feel something tingle in your gut and that's only at the mention of him. You can't ignore how he makes you feel. You've been following him for about two weeks now and it would be stupid to deny that you haven't gotten even slightly attached to him. Even when you didn't directly interact with him, just watching him gave you a strong sense of what kind of person he was, and it's like every time you're with him you get to know him that little bit more. He's not the psychopath you were hired to kill. Sure, he has his psychotic moments and he does have a short temper, but when you really think about it, you and him aren't that much different. You both kill for a living; you both find pleasure in watching the life seep out of people after you pull the trigger; you both have more similarities to one another than differences.

But you counter your own thoughts by reminding yourself that you've killed people like Trevor before. You've killed murderers, taken them hostage and tied them down while you cut holes into their body, just for the satisfaction of making them feel what they've done to others. Why should you treat Trevor any differently from them? Because you slept with him, that's why. You'd been so _dumb_ going in from that angle. You thought that because other people had done it easily that you could do it too, because you're allegedly the 'best in the business'. You should have realised that not everybody is the same, that some deal with sexual relationships differently than others and you definitely dealt with it differently than them, and look where it's gotten you. You were dumb, so _fucking_ dumb and you're so angry with yourself for winding up in this situation.

You start to think about the other agents you've met before. It's a competitive business, assassination. Everyone wants the most kill counts, the most cases, the _best_ cases. The people who you've met before are ruthless and you can't help but shake the feeling that if they had been put on this case instead of you that it would be over already. Trevor would be flung six feet underground and never be heard of again. And that fact alone makes you feel so weak. Why can't you just do that? You can. You're fully fucking capable of it but you _can't._ Because even the mere thought of putting a gun to Trevor's head makes you feel sick.

"God-fucking-damn it!" you scream as you fling yourself back against the grass, kicking and pounding the grass with your fists, letting out loud screeches of frustration from your throat like a pathetic toddler. You're ripping out the grass and you can feel tears starting to form in your eyes. You're so angry with yourself that you can't even decide what to do anymore and you can't stop yourself from getting upset over it. This is your job, your career since you were so young and innocent and you're stuck over one fucking case because you fucking grew attached to the target. Lesson one of How To Be a Hit-Man 101 is to not develop fucking feelings for your target and _look!_ You've gone and fucking done it! Fuck.

And you're so angry with Trevor, too. How fucking _dare_ he be so fucking nice to you. He was _supposed_ to be a psychotic maniac who was _supposed_ to be put down and yet there he fucking was, buying you drinks, taking you home and making sure you were safe from other psychotic assholes. How fucking _dare_ he make you develop feelings for him.

And it's then that you start to psych yourself up. Anger is pumping through your veins and you can't stop it. _How dare he _...__  you keep muttering to yourself when you finally stand up and start pacing the grass. _How dare he..._ you continue to mutter as you get back into your car and rev the engine loudly, making birds screech above you as they flee from the trees in flocks. _How fucking dare he!..._  you scream to yourself as you race down the road you came from, avoiding all speed limits and enjoying the way your car roars and screams as you skid around corners. _Trevor is a fucking dead man,_ you think. _This is it,_ you think. _This is the end,_ you think, and you're practically blinded by anger at that point to even worry about the way you're driving.

You get to Trevor's trailer within half the time it took you to take to drive to the mountains and you don't even care to lock your car before you march towards his door. You pull it open with such force that you're almost sure it's made a dent in the front of his trailer and Trevor, who is watching TV when you entere, shoots up from his seat in fright and instinctively grabs the nearest beer bottle in defense.

Without any explanation, you walk over to him and kiss him. The kiss is rough, hard, painful almost as you grab his face, marking your dominance from the get-go. You wanted to sleep with him before you killed him and this is it. You want him to have the best sex of his life before you end it and you're determined to make it happen.

Trevor's shirt is off before he can even process, followed quickly by the rest of his clothes. You pull him into the bedroom and practically throw him onto the bed. He looks so confused that you're sure he doesn't have a clue what's even happening but you soon make it clear when you remove your clothing right in front of him. You lock eyes with him and all you can see is desire and it turns you on knowing just how much he wants you, just how _hot_ you can make him just by standing naked in front of him.

You're in no mood for foreplay, though. You're not willing to tease him, nor are you willing to show yourself off to him to get him even more worked up. You want to take him, here and now, and you waste no time in doing it. You get on your knees, straddling him, and position his tip at your entrance. You sink down onto him, hips starting to jut before he can even let out an initial moan. His hands roam your body, over your hips, ass, breasts, through your hair; they can't decide where to settle. They finally grab onto your face to pull you in for a kiss and you adore the sound of his noises against your lips. Husky growls escaping his chest mix with the moans from your throat as you move your hips at a brisk pace and you allow the pent up frustration inside of you to escape through your motions.

Trevor is close already and you don't blame him for not lasting long. You'd barely given him a chance to adjust before drowning him in pleasure and you're pretty much in the same state yourself. Your core is pulsing and you're just overdosing in stimulation between your legs, and as soon as you feel Trevor's release you can't stop your own from coming straight after. You're shaking, clinging onto Trevor's strong shoulders and as you both ride out the last few waves and after that all you can see is stars. Heavy breathing fills the air and you can hear nothing but thumping in your eardrums. If that isn't the best orgasm you'd ever had, then you'll be fucking damned.

You peel yourself off of Trevor, sticky from sex and sticky from the heat within the metal walls. You can't control your breathing and you don't care how disgusting you look because Trevor looks the exact same. You both just need time to recover before you even think about doing anything else.

Finally, after about five minutes of silence, Trevor speaks. "What—what the fuck was that?" he asks, voice raspy from growling. You say nothing, but he follows his question up with, "Seriously. What was that? Is everything alright?"

You remain silent and only sit up in bed. You reach forward for your shirt and shorts again, maneuvering yourself into them despite how hard they want to stick to your clammy skin, before Trevor pulls you back towards him and forces you to look at him. You can't. You can't look into those eyes and you can't bear to talk to him. You have one thing on your mind now and that's all you're focused on.

You pull away from Trevor and crawl to the end of the bed, far enough so you're out of Trevor's arm's reach and close enough to search through your bag, which had been sitting there since you'd arrived. You fumble through your clothes until you find it; the cold metal of the firearm stinging your hands as if it was covered in thorns. _This is it._

"(y/n)? Stop fucking giving me the cold shoulder or I'll have to spank yo—"

You turn around and point the pistol at Trevor and he goes silent. He looks at you, looks at the gun and then looks back at you, and then he realises. He realises what type of person you are; who you are, why you're here and what your intention was from the start. He's a smart man and you knew that from the beginning and you're just sorry that he has to know what's going to happen before you pull the trigger.

"I'm sorry."

You flick the safety off and your hand starts to tremble. You look Trevor straight in the eyes and see nothing but betrayal. Betrayal in the form of anger, that he can't fucking believe he let you into his life like this and let himself get into this situation. The flames are there and they're burning bright and you hate yourself for making him feel that way about you.

"Do it," he orders, voice emotionless but his eyes are telling you the truth about how he feels.

Your hand starts to visibly shake now and your chest tightens to the point that you can't breathe. You can feel that awful lump in your throat, which is followed up by tears forming in your eyes. _Weak,_ you keep repeating to yourself, _you're so weak that you can't even pull the trigger. You have all the power in the world to kill him and you **can't.**_

And the anger is back again. Your jaw clenches as you watch Trevor stare back at you with dark eyes and you can't control your body anymore. The only thing that remains still is the finger resting against the trigger - the only thing you're counting on moving, yet it doesn't. It stays completely still and you're just sitting there, on your knees in front of Trevor like a fucking idiot.

 _"Do it!"_ Trevor hisses, making you jump in your skin and press against the trigger. Your eyes flicker to his throat, seeing him swallow before they glance back up at his eyes. You want to look at anywhere but his eyes because they're making you feel sick again.

This is the moment you've been waiting for. You have his life in your hands. You think about the other agents, how they'd be laughing at you now. How your boss, who relies so heavily on you to be the 'best' already has someone ready to take your place as soon as you drop the gun. But you don't want that to happen. You're stronger than that. You want to show them why you are the best of the best and why someone like Trevor-fucking-Philips can't get the better of you.

"I'm sorry," you say, voice strained as you try to stop your emotion from pouring out, before you start to put pressure on the trigger. You pull and pull and you look away before you hear the _click_. Time slows down and you can practically hear the whole mechanics of a bullet being released from inside the titanium in your hand. Your brain goes numb and you can't even register what's happening until you finally open your eyes and look back.

The sight in front of you makes you pale and you're sure you're going to physically vomit. You're used to seeing blood. Bones, internal organs, pieces of mashed up brains; you're used to it all. But in front of you is something more disturbing than you can ever imagine. The wall behind him is clean, not a hair on his head out of place.

Trevor is alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S H I T S O N 
> 
> that ending thooooooooooooooooooooo
> 
> so shit is about to go down, as you can imagine, and i've pretty got it figured out from here what's going to happen, I think (I HOPE). so that means the next few chapters will be leading up to the end, and trust me shit is about to get even more dramatic 
> 
> if you enjoyed this chapter, leave me some love! every little thing you guys leave me is so appreciated and i love every single one of you! 
> 
> thanks for reading! <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um so like i'm a piece of shit??? but i think you guys have figured that out by now considering I haven't updated in soO fucking long and i apologise so much for that
> 
> i've been super super busy lately since i got a job working in a pets store, which has me starting at 7am some days or finishing at 8pm other days, like my shifts are all over the place and it just kinda ruins any chance of writing when i have work the same day because i'm either getting ready to go beforehand or being super tired and just wanting to chill after i finish because it tires me the fuck out
> 
> but like i'm trying to write when i get inspiration, i know what i want to happen to this story but it's just physically sitting down, not getting distracted, and writing the chapters. ugh, being a writer is hard ya feel
> 
> i'm hoping this chapter will make up for my absence though! hopefully (i say this every fucking chapter but) HOPEFULLY i will get this finished sooner than later, and hopefully y'all are still sticking with me (even tho i'm a piece of shit)
> 
> enjoy! <33333

You can't get the look he had in his eyes out of your mind. It's been three days since you rushed out of Trevor's trailer after pointing a gun to his head and you're having nightmares about those broken eyes of his; horrdenous dreams which make you wake up in a panicked sweat and stop you from sleeping for the rest of the night.

You've been living in your car since you left Trevor. Going without food, water and clean water to bathe in, you've been in a state of depression which you can't find to pull yourself out of no matter how hard you try. Your boss has even tried to call you numerous times, but all you can do is ignore it. Thinking about even touching your phone makes you feel sick to the bone, and you're positive it's not just because your blood sugar is low.

You're currently sitting in the back-seat of your car, your arms wrapped around your legs, holding them tight against your chest as you rest your chin on your knees. With a sigh, you lean your head against the window, looking out into the wilderness around you. You've returned to the mountains, the spot where you spent your time trying to work yourself up to kill Trevor, and you've found comfort in the peaceful environment. You've even seen a few deer skip buy your car a few times since you've been there, but they quickly disappeared before you could do anything to interact with them. Probably for the best. Who would want to get close to a monster like you? You'd probably just try to kill them.

That's no exaggeration either. You've been ignoring your rumbling stomach for the past few days but it's starting to really hurt you now, to the point where  you could easily kill a deer if it meant you had food without having to leave the area. You feel weak, like you can't move if you wanted to, and you know you'll have to leave to take care of yourself eventually if you want to live. But that's the thing - you felt so horrible about what happened that you're unsure if you even want to continue living. There's nothing to live for any more - your boss, who you've been blatantly ignoring, will probably hate you for wasting his time and Trevor, whom you've come to realise you've felt something more for him than you intended to, probably wants you dead and has his men out looking for you this second. What else is there for a hit-woman if she doesn't have anything left to live for?

But there's something in you that stops you from taking one of your many guns from the trunk of your car and ending your life right there and then, and that one thing is Trevor Philips. While you're aware of how he probably feels about you right now, you still can't help but want to see him again. You want to talk to him about what happened, clean up your loose ends and then, if he still wants to kill you after your explanation, you'll accept your fate. Until then, you can't die until you've made sure that has been sorted.

It's that thought alone which makes you sit up and climb to the front of the car. Starting up the ignition, you take a glance in the mirror to see your pale, sunken face staring back at you. You're a mess; you need food, a shower and a clean bed before you face Trevor, and so you set off to Los Santos where you seek a hotel which you can spend your potential last days on Earth before you confront Trevor. It's a five star, of course  - wouldn't want to spend your final days anywhere else, and while you notice the staff giving you questionable looks about your presence there, you're given a room once you flash your credit card.

Your first move is to shower, and so you do, enjoying the warm flow against your clammy skin. After living in Sandy Shores for so long, you've been used to living in dirt-ridden motel rooms or the sweaty, humid trailer of Trevor's and it's weird to be in a spotless room again, which you once considered normal, but now it just feels slightly... odd, like you're out of place. There's a large part of you which knows this is where you belong, with the rich and the famous and the important people of Los Santos, but there's also a tiny part of you which misses the grime and the dirty of Sandy Shores, how every one who is smelly or sweaty or dirty is accepted and how you'd always kind of had a soft spot for Trevor's odd stench. You try to push that part of you away, but it's a stubborn little bastard and stays put. Fuck.

You find a diner once you're clean and dressed. You buy so much junk food - two burgers, a giant portion of fries, a chocolate milkshake followed by a giant slice of chocolate cake smothered in whipped cream - and you eat the lot of it. You feel sick once you're done but you're so satisfied that you just sit in your booth, food baby resting under your palms and the buttons on your shorts struggling to stay fastened. Eventually you give up and free your stomach from the restrictions of short buttons and slouch in your seat, ignoring the onlookers who are shooting you disgusted glances. You don't care - an attitude you definitely learned from Trevor - and make yourself comfortable until you're ready to leave.

You're eventually asked to leave after an hour of sitting in the diner, ordering nothing else but 'taking up a perfectly good booth which we could give to another paying customer', or so the waitress claimed. You comply without hassle and make your way out of the diner, taking a stroll down the block. You definitely feel a lot better now that your basic needs had been dealt with and you're slowly, but surely, building up the courage to find Trevor.

You turn to Vespucci beach, which you simply walk down to clear your head, a form of therapy which you found has helped ever since you were a teen. Beaches were your favourite places to go and you've always loved the smell of sea salt in the air and the feel of sand beneath your toes. It's relatively quiet as you walk onto the sand, stopping to take off your shoes to feel your soles sink into the sand. It's then that you hear your phone ringing in your pocket and for once, you actually take it out to answer it. You're surprised it's still alive, but you hadn't particularly used it in a while so it makes sense that there's still battery life.

"Hello?" you say as you press the phone to your ear.

"Where have you been? I've been worried sick!" Your boss. Your stomach drops as you hear his voice and you freeze on the spot.

"O-oh, sorry. I've been busy... working on the case and stuff. You know? I mean, I haven't found time to answer your phone calls and I apologise for that."

"Busy?" he asks. "Doing what?"

"Tracking Mr. Philips, of course," you respond, although you're sure you're not convincing him.

"You're taking a very long time tracking him. I thought you said you were in with him? Why isn't he dead yet?"

"I know, I know. He's just a very unpredictable ma—"

"You said you were going to sleep with him to get close to him. Have you?"

"I—"

"(y/n), I'm a very busy man, I have no time for this bumbling."

"Yes. Yes, I have, sir."

"And you should have killed him then, why didn't you?"

"I—I... I..."

"Where are you now?"

"I'm in Sandy Shores."

"Liar."

Your stomach drops again, but this time you feel yourself start to sweat. "Excuse me?"

"You don't think I've got cameras all over the city? I've been tracking you since you refused to answer my phone calls. Didn't you forget I have a tracker in all my agents' cell phones?"

"Sir, look, I'm sorry, I just couldn't—"

"You couldn't kill him? Is that what you're about to say, because if so you're in a lot of trouble, missy."

"I'm sorry, sir, I just— I... Trevor is..."

"Trevor is? Oh, you silly little girl. You've fallen for him, haven't you? _Haven't you?"_

You pause. Silence, for a good few seconds before he speaks again, his voice contrastingly quieter than what it had been only seconds ago. 

"I don't like it when my agents are unprofessional. This business isn't run on romance stories, Miss. (y/n), it's run on murder, and if I can't even get you to do that, then you have to be removed from my employment. And you know what that means."

Shit. It's the first thing you're told in basic training - elimination from employment means elimination from life, and that means you're in deep, deep shit.

"Don't bother trying to run, (y/n). We will find you."

He hangs up. You're simply left there, standing on the spot and shaking, hopeless like a tiny little puppy just born to the world. You can't physically breathe until you realise that you have to move, _now,_ or you will  _die._ _He knows where you are at all times - he has the whole city bugged and he can see you now,_ you remind yourself, and it's then that you wake up, drop your phone and take off running, back the way your came and the opposite direction from the hotel you just checked into that day. You know your credit card belongs to the company and they'll more than likely track you down using it, so you have to let go all you had before, including your car with every weapon you once owned in it. You didn't think anything like this would happen and so you hadn't thought to bring a form of self defence with you, a rookie mistake on your part. You have nowhere to run now, nowhere to go where you're not feeling like you're being watched, and so you have no other choice but to go to the one person you've been dreading to see since you left.

The target. The one who ruined it all; your career, your feelings, your reputation.

Trevor Philips. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO SHIT IS HAPPENING AHH IM EXCITED
> 
> pls let me know if you're still in on this fic, like i get comments here and there telling me to update and i'm just like ahhh!!! i want to!!!! but i have no time!!! but like knowing if people actually still want this fic to be finished is really motivating and i'd love to hear your feedback as always <3
> 
> hopefully this chapter makes up for my lack of updates, as I said before. i'm about to work on the next chapter so leave me some love and it should be up soon! 
> 
> much love to you all <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHO EVEN AM I WRITING ANOTHER CHAPTER AND POSTING IT HOLY SHIT!!!!!! i'm just excited that this is coming to an end because im looking forward to writing the plan I've had for agessssssss
> 
> thank you for the feedback and everything last time everyone c: i really appreciate it! i hope you enjoy this chapter!

You haven't missed the heat of Sandy Shores but you sure as hell missed the familiarity of it. You missed the sand, the sea of trailers that decorated the dirt roads and you missed how comfortable you felt there. But there's no denying that you're nervous. Fuck, this could be the end; Trevor could pull out a gun as soon as he sees you but you're not going to chicken out now. You've been so _scared_ this whole fucking mission, too afraid to do what you set out to do because you had fallen for your target. Unprofessional, that's what you are, and it's ruined everything. You wish you'd never been given this case.

But then again, you're glad you did. This mission had changed your life, and it made you realise that people can change so easily. Your boss, someone you've trusted since you first met, has turned on you so easily and is now out to kill you just because you failed a mission; Trevor, a psychopath who could have easily murdered you in your sleep, treated you like a princess; and yourself, someone who you thought was a professional, the best in their field, except you let your feelings get in the way of your work and now you're being hunted down, hated by everyone you trusted. But still, you keep going. You may be unprofessional, you may have been too scared to go through with your assassination, but at least you know you're still strong. And that thought puts confidence in you, enough so that when you pull up outside Trevor's trailer, you're ready to face him with a brave face.

You stand at his door for a good few seconds, taking deep breaths and thinking about what you're going to say to him. _Trevor, I'm sorry. I betrayed you and you probably want to ring my neck right now, but I have to explain what happened before you did; Trevor... I'm so sorry. I fucked up, I really did. I need to explain what happened. I need to explain how I couldn't do it. I need to explain how I feel about you; Trevor... I love y—_

The door opens in your face and you swear you're about to have a fucking heart attack because you definitely hadn't expected to be caught on his doorstep.  
  
"I don't appreciate no snot-nosed Mormon breathin' on my doorstep, why don't you—" and he pauses. Eyes wide, confused almost, as he furrows his brows while he lays eyes on you. He's silent and you feel so out of place, so tense, as if you're anticipating something to hurt you. But nothing happens, and it actually makes you feel more uncomfortable.

"Hi," you manage to say, fiddling your fingers nervously as you look up at him. He's just staring at you, the first time you've ever seen him 100% silent out of sleep. It was nerve-racking.

"What do you want?" he finally asks when he speaks.

"I—I... I need to talk to you."

"No."

"W—wh... what?"

"I said no. Now fuck off."

And he slams his door in your face. You start to panic; you hadn't anticipated such a reaction from him and if pains you to see that he's not angry, he's not blood thirsty or revengeful. He has no intention to hurt you, because he's hurt himself, and that makes your insides want to burst.

"Trevor, please," you say desperately as you bang on his door, almost shouting but you don't want to make a scene, "I just need to explain what happened. I don't want you to feel the way you do about me; I need to apologise. Please. You _have_ to let me in."

Silence again, and it makes you feel so vulnerable. You sink down against his door and pull your knees to your chest again, a position you feel comfortable in but still feel like a little child, crying in her room after getting in trouble with her parents. You can't allow yourself to cry, though. That would just make you look even more pathetic than you already are, sitting outside someone's trailer and crying like a baby. So you just sit there, holding yourself for a good ten minutes before Trevor opens the door again and you basically fall back into his trailer, on your back and staring up at him, who's looking at you with such disgust that it makes you feel like a cockroach he could easily squash against the carpet.

"Get off the floor," he orders to you, leaving the door open and walking to his couch, grabbing one of many beers you notice scattered around his trailer and taking a seat, his eyes on the television. "You have ten minutes to talk."

You pull yourself off the floor and close the door behind you, standing awkwardly in his kitchen, again feeling like a child in trouble with their parent or teacher. You fidget, picking the dirt from your nails and staring at Trevor like he's someone you've never met before; like you're unwelcome in a stranger's home.

"I'm sorry, Trevor," you start, your voice quiet and timid, "I'm sorry for everything. I was hired to kill you and every interaction we've ever had has been a ploy to get close to you, so I could kill you. But... I just couldn't, I physically _couldn't_ pull that trigger; I had so many opportunities to kill you, but I couldn't, because I..." You pause again. Are you actually ready to admit your feelings for him now? You can't. Not when he's not even looking at you; seemingly uncaring about what you have to say.

You move closer to him, taking a seat on the very far side of his sofa, turning your body to look at him. "I care about you, more than I should. You're such an amazing guy; crazy, psychotic and just... weird, but amazing nonetheless. I didn't expect to grow so attached to you as I did - as I _have_ \- but fuck, Trevor, I did and I haven't stopped thinking about you since we met. I know you must hate me for what I did, for finding out what my motive was before, but I'm not that person any more. I don't want to hurt you in any way and I know you might think I'm lying again, but I'm being perfectly honest. I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to tell you the truth."

He's still not looking at you but you can tell he's listening to you by the way his eyes glance away from the TV ever so often or he sighs quietly, although you can see the movement of his chest when he does it. You take a risk and reach over, resting your hand on top of his which he has on his thigh and at first, he catches it roughly, grabbing your fingers as if he's going to hit you, but he just holds them, eyes closed as his head tilts down, showing you how much pain your touch brings to him and how he feels about you being here.

He finally looks at you, his eyes full of emotion you've never seen from him before, and it makes your insides ache. You slink your fingers between his, the grip still tight but he allows you to do so. "I fucking hate you," he hisses under his breath, and you know he's just saying that to show his anger, "and I shouldn't let you be sitting here holding my fucking hand and spilling your guts out to me, but... I missed you. _Fuck!_ I fucking _missed_ you - who the fuck does that?!" His voice contrastingly breaks the quiet by shouting as he stands up, letting your hand go as he starts to pace the room.

"You think you can fucking point a gun at my face and walk away unharmed? You think you get to come in here and apologise for that shit without getting punished for it, huh? _Huh?!_ You're a fucking bitch. A sneaky, disgusting, _sexy_ bitch who I should put a knife through in multiple places, but I fucking can't. What have you done to me? I'm Trevor fucking Philips, and I'm no fucking pussy! But you make me one. You prove that by your existence. You shouldn't be, but you are, and I don't understand why you make me want to let you live."

You don't know what to say. You're sure there's an underlying message in his words but you're unsure if you're able to decipher it. Luckily, he cuts you off before you're able to say anything. "How much was the bounty on my head?"

"$500,000."

"Fuck! Someone really wants me dead."

"Yeah... but now because I didn't kill you, my boss really wants me dead."

"What?"

"Yeah... since I was fired, it means I now have to be taken out too. It's the 'knowing too much about the company, at risk of spilling the beans to the cops' factor that's now put a bounty on _my_ head."

"So what, you expect me to fucking _help_ you?" Trevor snaps.

"No no, not at all. I just wanted to clear things up with you before I died, is all," you say with a sigh.

Trevor goes quiet for a second, still pacing the room as he thinks things over in his head. "Nobody is going to kill you except me, which means everyone who tries to kill you has to die first, and I'm going to make sure that happens."

"What?"

"You fucking heard me. I'm gonna help you, alright? Now save your whining until it's time for me to punish you once we handle these pricks first."

You're actually shocked. You hadn't expected this to happen - you'd expected the exact opposite, actually - but you're so grateful for Trevor right now that you can't help but jump up and wrap your arms around his middle to hug him tightly. He tries to push you off but you don't let him, holding him tighter until he settles into the hug and holds you back.

"Thank you, Trevor. I can't tell you how much you mean to me."

"Yeah, yeah," he says with a faux bitter voice, "whatever. Now get the fuck off me. I need to make a few calls."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s h i t i s g o i n g d o w n d u d e s s s s s s s s s
> 
> we're finally getting into the final stretch of the fic! i think we'll only have a few more chapters until the end and i'll try and get them up for you as quick as possible!
> 
> thanks for reading! let me know what you think c:
> 
> much love <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK IM SO SORRY FOR LIKE COMPLETELY DESERTING THIS STORY AND I'M SO SORRY THAT I LEFT IT ON SUCH A CLIFFHANGER BUT THIS IS IT. THIS IS THE END. I THINK???fu cjddkn
> 
> life has been fucking difficult for me over the past like, year, basically. I work about 40 hours a week, I'm recently struggling with a self-discovery of hypersexuality (rofl, dont even start me with that shit) and honestly boy trouble is always ruling my life. not to mention i'm like constantly playing video games when i'm not doing everything else.
> 
> but i'm off today, and I decided to fucking finish this thing finally!!! so here you go. honestly, for someone who lost muse for this story a while back, I think it's a decent conclusion. enjoy!

A plan had been put in place, a very intelligent and cunning plan which you were pretty impressed with, considering Trevor practically made it up himself. Smart as well as hot, you were admitedly more attracted watching him draw up the plan on a piece of paper and you often had to remind yourself that now wasn't the time to be lusting over him. You had to focus, otherwise you'd wind up dead.

You were, essentially, the bait in this plan. Trevor was going to call out your ex-boss, tell him that he'd caught 'the sneaky little cunt' and is going to offer the man a deal: Trevor's bounty removed for your life. And fortunately, when Trevor called the boss up, he actually fell for it. It all seemed too easy and Trevor knew that there was a chance that it would be a trap for the both of you, which is why he brought a couple of friends along to help him out. Franklin Clinton and Michael De Santa, apparently very trustworthy and good to have on a job like this, so you felt relatively safe when you started making your way to the meeting point.

Trevor's airfield wasn't exactly the best place to meet, but at least it was out in the open; we'd know if there was any unexpected incomings and would most likely be able to get out alive if we were to run. You're placed on a chair in the middle of the hangar, your hands behind your back as if they were bounded together and a gag round your mouth, which Trevor takes great joy in putting on you. Franklin and Michael wait in the cockpit of the Vestra behind you, ready for Trevor's cue. The trap is set, now you just have to wait.

A convoy of three black SUV's pulls up along the airstrip around midday. You don't recognise the men who step out the cars first but you definitely clock the assault rifles they were carrying against their chest. Finally, your boss steps out and he was just as you expect him to look like. Fat, greasy and creepy-looking, the type of guy who has to buy women because it would be the only way he'd get laid; he's repulsive and you're glad your mouth is covered otherwise he'd see your lips curl into a grimace.

Trevor approaches him with a slight swagger in his walk and you cant help but smirk behind your gag; there was something about the way he carried himself against someone who could very well kill him quicker than he could blink that turned you on, but again you had to remind yourself to stay calm and collected. You were supposed to be acting as if you were about to die, and so you put on your best acting face.

"Mr. Philips," says your boss with a gross smirk on his fat face, "I've heard so much about you. What an honour to meet you! I do believe you're one of the biggest bounty's I've ever had the pleasure working against, so this moment is very special. Normally I don't get to meet any of my company's clients, but unfortunately, I seem to have hired a baphoon of a hit-woman and here we are." He glances your way, shooting you daggers before smirking again at Trevor.

"Yeah, yeah, fuckin' pleasure to meet you, brother. This little lady has caused a bit of problem for the both of us so let's get to fuckin' work in getting rid of her, alright?" he says, obviously channelling the bitterness he feels for you over the whole ordeal before.

"Come on then, you heard the man," your boss says, beckoning you over to him like a fucking dog. Trevor walks to the back of you, lifting you from your chair and nuding you forward, walking you towards your boss like a dog. This was where you stepped in, your part of the deal which everyone agreed would be suitable for you to take. Before you had been sat on the chair, you'd been given a 5inch blade to hold, ready for this moment to happen, and as soon as you got to your boss you didn't hesitate to get to work in using it. You swung the blade towards his face, but unfortunately you don't expect him to react so quickly and he catches your hand.

"You silly little girl," he says, hissing through his teeth like a snake, "you forget that I am the original member of this company. I started this business, killing people for food in my belly. I have more training than you'll ever have and you'll never be able to fool me with your tricks."

He punches you in the face quicker than you can register and before you know it you're on the ground and dazed, the sound of bullets starting to wurl above you. You can vaguely see the shadows of your boss' men hitting the floor, blood pooling under their bodies as Franklin, Michael and Trevor pick them off while they're focused on you, but you feel so weak and useless that you can't even get up. Your head is spinning and your heart is racing and you know you're about to die. This isn'tthe death you wanted. You had to much pride to allow yourself to go without fighting and it's that which makes you overdose on adrenaline. You look around, spotting your old boss getting into one of the SUVs and driving off unharmed. You quickly pull yourself up from the ground and get into a vehicle yourself, racing after him. Not the wisest move, but you're too heated to think of anything other than seeing your boss' head on a spike.

You search wherever your hands can reach within the car for some sort of gun. Fortunately, you manage to find a pistol in the glove compartment and it has to be a sign that it's fully loaded. You put the window down and aim, your first bullet hitting the back bumper but the second hitting the back right wheel after, making your boss skid slightly but regain control quickly after. You aim for the left tire now, lucky your aim doesn't falter when you're worked up because you manage to pop that one too, and now you're able to catch up to him, driving parallel to him.

"Give up now, you stupid little cunt," you hear him scream, obviously panicked by your sharp aim against his tires, faltering his speed and lowering his chances of getting away efficiently. You're racing up the airstrip, shooting your pistol continuously although because you're trying to focus on the road too your shots aren't as accurate as before, missing almost every time except for the one occasion where a bullet grazes his arm, causing him to swerve. He's pissed now, and he swings the steering wheel to the right, crashing into the side of your car and making you swerve. He then takes a left onto the adjoining airstrip, going west towards Los Santos. You chase him after regaining your composure from the collision and catch up quickly again, this time catching his front right tire with another bullet while you race towards him. This slows him down significantly and gives you a better chance of killing him.

He's clearly panicking and eventually reaches for his glove compartment to grab a firearm of his own. It's a semi automatic pistol and it spits bullets at you and it makes you swerve off to the side because you know if you don't dodge then you're going to get shot. But he catches onto what you're doing and steers himself into the left side of the back of your car to spin you out, causing you to wind up facing him. You can see his grin as he raises his pistol at you, but you're quick and you duck down in time, the bullets crashing through your front windscreen going straight through your car. Fuck, your heart is pounding and you have to think quickly. You can hear your boss getting out of his car and you have to move quickly, scrambling out of the passenger side's door so he doesn't catch you. You take cover by the right side of your car, kneeling down and manoeuvring whenever you feel him getting closer.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are, y/n. You know you want to play," you hear him say in a voice which you can only describe as sinister. You decide to quickly check his position but he's quick and as soon as you pop your head out he shoots at you, catching your cheek which causes you to recoil and cup the wound in pain. _Fuck,_ you're going to die, and you don't know how to prevent it. You think hard, using Trevor, of all people, as your inspiration to get out of this alive. You want to see him again, to let him know that you're truly sorry for a final time and regain his trust if you can. You want to see his smile again; you want to make him happy again.

You quickly duck under the car, crawling underneath and hoping this action had gone unnoticed by the veteran assassin on your tail. You've been keeping a secondary blade tucked away in a holster underneath your pants, strapped around your ankle which you pull out. You monitor your ex-boss' movements, watching his feet patrol and eventually become lost as he notices you're not there. When he finally gets close enough and stops, you make your move, swinging your knife at the tendon at the back of his ankle and forcefully snapping it. You watched him drop to the ground as he screamed in pain and that's when you crawled out again, quickly before he sees your hiding spot. You race round to the side he's on and kick away his dropped pistol before he can even think of grabbing it. Your gun is on him now - you've got the advantage and you fucking take it. You shoot his right shoulder, enjoying his screams as he cups the wound, then you shoot the hand he's using to do that and he screams even louder.

"You're a piece of fucking shit, you know that?" you hiss, eyes darkened as you look down at him, "your company is literally a murder machine and you're the boss, so what kind of person does that make you? A psychopath, that's what. Very similar to the victims you hire people like me to kill. But now it's _your_ turn. I wonder what the bounty on your head is? 500k? A million? Honestly, if it were up to me, you wouldn't even cost a dime. You're a worthless piece of shit and I'm shutting you and your fucking business down. Forever."

"Wait, y/n, don't do this. I'll give you money, so much money you won't know what to do with it," he pleaded, desperation clear in his features now, but you just smirk at him, taking pity in his begging.

"No thanks," you reply confidently, "I don't need money. The thing I need the most just now is to see your dead body." And that's when you blatantly raise your aim to his skull, walking closer to him before you're standing above him, the gun pointing directly down at him and he's looking up at you with tears in his eyes. You pull the trigger, and this time, it actually goes off.

***

You rejoin Trevor, Michael and Franklin back at the hangar after about ten minutes driving back. Everyone on your boss' side is dead and you're honestly more relieved than you've ever been in your entire life. It's over. For now.

"You okay?" asks Trevor once you get out of the SUV. You feel exhausted and your cheek is throbbing from the open wound being exposed to daylight. You need a hospital, a bottle of whiskey and about 15 hours of sleep to regain.

"I'm alive," you reply, "that's the most important part."

"And your boss?"

"He is not."

"Good. Let's get you home. Michael says we can stay at his house for now, while the heat dies down. Who knows what kind of backfire shooting the boss of a massive hit-man association can bring? I don't really want to find out today."

You nod and go with the boys back to Michael's huge-ass mansion. It's fancier than you've ever seen before and you continuously say to Trevor that this is the kind of house he should be living in. He stubbornly defends his trailer and you're sure he'd keep doing that to the grave.

Michael's wife, Amanda, is surprisingly good with bullet wounds, but when you think about how long she's been married to Michael, a veteran criminal, she's obviously picked up a few welfare tips from the countless times he's come home with a minor bullet wound like yours. She cleans you up, stitches the wound and covers it and while it's painful without local anaesthetic, you're glad you didn't have to go to the hospital to get it done. It'd be very suspicious coming in after being shot without wanting to explain what happened and you're in no fit state of mind to make up a fake story either.

The De Santa's are very hospitable and make you comfortable in their house, feeding you and giving you a change of clothes so you can get out of the sweaty, bloody ones you're in now. They also let you sleep in the guest room while Trevor and Franklin are given the living room to sleep in. Of course, you invite Trevor to your room to talk as soon as it gets around bedtime.

"What a day," you say as you slide under the covers of the freshly-made bed of the guest room.

"Eh, pretty typical for me. What's a good day without killing a bunch of some douchbag's goons?" he replies and you laugh. He sits down on the side of the bed. You watch him and your eyes soften after you remember what had happened between you.

"Look, Trevor," you start, sitting up in bed and scooching towards him a little more, "I know I'm probably not your most favourite person just now and that's understandable, but I want you to know that I'm forever grateful for what you've done for me, even though I didn't deserve it at all. But I want you to know that that person who you saw pointing a gun to your head isn't me. Not any more. I don't want to be someone who kills innocent people because of a reputation that everyone else has made for them. Sure, you are a fucking psycho, but fuck, so am _I_. We're criminals, and while our reputations are going to be constantly piss poor, we gotta stick up for one another, learn what we're really like behind closed doors and protect each other, and I'm lucky I got to see what kind of person you are deep down. I'm a bit drowsy from the painkillers Amanda gave me for my face, but I want you to know that... well, I'm lucky I met you. I'm so _happy_ I met you, got close to you and got to spend personal time with the real Trevor. What I'm trying to say is... Trevor, I—"

"Trevor! Where you at, man?" Michael's voice echoes the halls outside the door and you stop mid sentence. Fuck, great timing, Michael.

Trevor looks pissed that the interruption's happened and screams back, "I'm a little fuckin' busy right now, Mikey! Fuck off!"

"Hey, watch your fuckin' language! See me when you're done."

He turns back to me, eyes bright and eager for you to continue. "Carry on. Please."

You're kind-of embarrassed right now, but you take a deep breath. "I've... never felt the way I do for anyone else except you. I'm so attached to you, I think about you every moment of the day and... fuck, I love you, Trevor Philips. So fucking much, it's sickening."

Trevor continues to look at you, thinking deeply and you can see while he's mute that he's not reacting negatively. His chest is rising and falling heavily but it looks like it's because his heart is beating hard. He says nothing, but instead pulls you close and crashes his lips against yours. The initial collision hurts your cheek and the motions of your mouth makes the wound throb a bit but it's completely worth it. The kiss is so passionate, telling you a thousand things about what he's thinking at that moment and that's all you can ask for.

"I love you too, you fucking wuss," Trevor finally says against your lips as the kiss slows down and you can't help but smile. "But I'm definitely going to punish you for what you did."

You can tell he's talking from a non-serious state of mind now and you can feel the smirk against your lips.  It makes you grin. "Ooh, I can't wait. I've been a very bad girl."

He chuckles and then gets into bed with you. There was no sex that night, however. There wasn't space for it. The two of you just wanted each other in a completely PG-13, wussy way, exchanging embraces and delicate kisses and enjoying the presence of one another as you held each other, eventually falling asleep and waking up together in that same embrace. There were still things to work through, a _lot_ in fact, but you would cross that bridge when you got to it. For now, the two of you were just content. Happiness wasn't something that came easy to either of you, but with one another, it felt like second nature. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg ok fuck I got a little emotional at the end there. there you have it, folks! as far as I'm aware, this is where we depart with this story. there's always a chance of a sequel and I did get a few ideas for what that could entail when I was writing this part, but honestly I can't see myself having the time or inspiration to do that in the near future. who knows, though, it could still happen eventually!
> 
> I want to say a massive thanks to everyone who's supported this story over the past couple of years. I know I'm like the most awful fic author cuz i'm unpredictable and unreliable but you guys have been there and honestly getting updates about the kudos my fics are still getting every now and then makes my days <3 so thank you thank you thank you. i hope the ending was satisfying and you guys are happy with it, let me know what you think!
> 
> much much love for reading. ily all so much <3!


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